


Woodsmoke - Interlude

by ElderberryWine



Series: Far From Home [11]
Category: Lord of the Rings - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Part of the Far From Home series.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-20
Updated: 2010-03-20
Packaged: 2017-10-08 04:10:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElderberryWine/pseuds/ElderberryWine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quick glance at my (AU) calendar reminded me that I had forgotten a very special holiday, during <i>Elegy</i>.  Written for the Yule Love F/S-estivities challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Woodsmoke - Interlude

Frodo was on the very edges of sleep when he heard Sam's voice from next to his collarbone. "Frodo!" came the abrupt exclamation, followed by the most unlikely of questions, "What day is it, me dear?

"Whatever do you mean, Sam?" he asked in a certain amount of befuddlement. After all, he really had been on just the point of surrendering to blissful slumber, as certain parts still tingled and throbbed in the most delightful of ways from their previous activity, and even his shoulder hardly gave a twinge at all.

But now Sam had raised his head, and in the moonlight, Frodo could see that his brow was furrowed as he tried to work it out. And indeed, that was not a simple question to answer. They had left the Shire on Frodo's birthday, that was easy enough to remember, but how many days had it been since then? Several weeks, no, actually it had been months, hadn't it? They reached the conclusion, he could tell from Sam's expression, at very nearly the same instant.

"In two days, it will have been three months," Frodo murmured.

"Yule," Sam breathed, a wry smile beginning to appear. "Can you imagine it, me dearie? Yule with the elves. Beats Brandy Hall all hollow, if you don't mind me sayin' so."

"Not exactly a difficult task," Frodo couldn't help chuckling, as Sam's smile widened in agreement. "Well, let's just check with Bilbo tomorrow, and see what they do here by way of celebration. But for right now, Sam-love, you were just so very, well, comfortable where you were, and it is really rather late, and. . ."

Leaning up, Sam, with the skill of years of practice, silenced him with a sweet and lingering kiss. "Aye, dearie, plenty of time tomorrow to be concerning ourselves with such matters," his response was warm with the hint of laughter as he wrapped his arms tenderly about him again. "Let yourself settle with me again, and sleep you well. Your Sam has you now."

With a contented sigh, and a quick kiss of Sam's forehead, Frodo wrapped himself once again around this familiar and cherished form, and was soon dreaming happily of laughing green eyes and the Shire.

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

Bilbo's response, the next morning over second breakfast, was a startled snort of laughter. "Why, stars above, you are quite right! I don't mind telling you that the days have become very muddled, for me, since I got here, and I really had quite lost track. Elrond did try to make an occasion of it, Yule, that is. That was when I first got here," he continued, staring out the round window to the valley below, an unconscious finger circling the rim of his tea cup, "but the elves don't go in for holidays much, and over the years, well, I suppose it slipped all of our minds, really."

"But here you all are," he brightened up, and gave a cheerful nod to the other four hobbits seated about the table, "and just in time, too! The night after next, you say? But no trouble, we'll just let Gandalf know, and he's sure to put things to rights."

Frodo had the uneasy feeling, as he watched his cousins' faces brighten up at this news, that Gandalf had a great deal more on his plate at this moment than holiday arrangements, but this was a matter which he had discussed very little with any of the others present, except Sam, so he remained silent.

However Bilbo seemed to realize that as well, as his smile faded a bit and he gave his chin a thoughtful scratch. "No, perhaps not," he murmured thoughtfully, and the faces of the younger two present fell once again. But then the sun peeped out from behind the clouds once again, and Bilbo set his cup down on the table with a firm thump. "Elessar!" he exclaimed, with a crow of triumph. "That's the ticket! Just the fellow we need."

Merry and Pippin gave each other rather a confused glance. "Strider, do you mean?" Merry ventured, turning back to Bilbo, who gave him a satisfied confirming nod. "Doesn't seem like a particularly festive sort."

"Strider is many things he does not seem to be," Bilbo laughed, with a conspiratorial wink in Frodo's direction. "But away with you all, for now, and let me find him. Just to be sure to be back for tea, and I'll let you know what must be done then."

So they left him, steadfastly refusing all their offers to wash up, humming what was, Frodo recognized, one of his favorite Yuletide tunes.

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

"Word has it," mentioned Halilhil later that evening, with a fair amount of diffidence as he assisted Sam in cleaning and dressing Frodo's shoulder wound, "that you hobbits are preparing to hold a certain ceremony. Might I be permitted to inquire as to its nature?"

Sam gave him a rather blank look for a moment, and even Frodo briefly wondered what the elf was referring to. "Ah, Yule!" he exclaimed, with a sudden smile, completely disregarding the sudden sting that the healing ointment always caused. "Not a ceremony, really, just a good excuse for a party."

"On what occasion?" Halilhil gave him a puzzled frown.

"Winter solstice," Frodo shrugged, causing Sam, who was carefully wrapping bandages around the shoulder and upper arm to give him a severe look. "Oh, sorry, my dear," he gave Sam a warm glance, and Sam nodded and returned to his task.

But Halilhil's puzzlement was not cured by this information. "The shortest day of the year? Why would this be a cause of celebration, for certainly it occurs every year," he persisted, attempting to understand this odd custom of the halflings.

"Why? Well, it must have seemed like a good idea once, a very long time ago, and apparently it has seemed like a good idea ever since," Frodo chuckled, thankful for the distraction as Sam finished his task, and tucked the last strip gently in place. "After all, there is not much else to be done at this time of year."

"And so it involves a feast of sorts?" Halilhil persevered.

Even Sam couldn't help a laugh at that. "Well, aye, we'd be hobbits after all," he grinned. "Of course, there'd be food. And drink, likewise. The best as can be had."

"And company," Frodo added. "Family, friends, near acquaintances, and total strangers sometimes, as many as can be managed to fit inside a smial. Music, too, of course, and dancing."

"And a Yule log," Sam prompted, with a dreamy smile. "Can't be forgettin' that, me dear."

"Absolutely not." Frodo assured him, with a fond smile that suddenly became a bit mischievous. "Not to mention the mistletoe."

"Mistletoe?" Halilhil asked, now genuinely bewildered. "How does one celebrate with mistletoe? Surely you do not eat that?" But he sensed that that was all the information he was going to get for the moment, as the halflings suddenly appeared to have forgotten his presence.

"Come join us, then," Frodo managed to break away for a moment as Halilhil was leaving the room. "Tomorrow night. The more, the merrier, you know."

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

Sam could hardly credit his eyes, but that was indeed a Yule log that Strider had slung over his shoulder – massive, fir, and even festooned with holly. Bilbo's instructions must have been quite particular, he realized, for the elderly hobbit chose just that moment to scurry from the kitchen, and give the man's burden a most critical eye. "Well done, Elessar," he nodded with satisfaction, as the man gratefully laid the heavy log down on the flagstones before the hearth. "Very well, Samwise, don't just stand there gawking, but give the lad a hand." And before Sam could quite fathom that it was this rough-hewn man to whom Bilbo was referring, the elderly hobbit disappeared back into the kitchen once again. The most delicious aromas had been wafting from the closed doors all morning, and Sam was quite sure that it was plum pudding that he had just caught a whiff of. Frodo had been conscripted by Bilbo directly after second breakfast, but Bilbo had steadfastly refused Sam's assistance. "No need, dear boy, we've prepared many a Yule feast between the two of us," and Sam had acquiesced, knowing this to be true. He also suspected that Bilbo wished to have this opportunity to have a private chat with his nephew. Merry and Pippin had been sent off to collect mistletoe, and that left him alone with the ranger.

"I assume that chopping this up a bit first would fly against all tradition," Strider eyed the measurements of the fireplace and the log both with a critical eye.

"Aye, t'would be a Yule log, not Yule kindling as would be the custom," Sam couldn't help a smile at the ranger's expression. "But I'm thinkin' that if you'd take that stub on the top off, it might slide in a bit more tidy-like."

"Ah, yes, that would just about do it," Strider's expression brightened. "Let me fetch the saw; I left it just without the door." In a moment, he had done so, and began to saw through the offending stub, while Sam, without asking, held down the other end to steady it for him. "Do you think he is really ready, Sam?" he asked abruptly as he sawed, his eyes never leaving the log.

Sam had no need of asking to whom he was referring, and as little need of considering a response to that question, since it had been preoccupying his every waking thought for the past several days. "He thinks as much," he responded gruffly.

Strider sawed through the last bit, and threw it further back into the fireplace, behind the Yule log. "I have no doubt as to that," he stated briefly, still keeping his eyes on the task at hand and not on Sam's face. "But I was asking what you thought."

"When Frodo has made up his mind about sommat, there ain't no point in arguing," Sam answered simply. He gave the tall man, who had now picked up the hearth broom and was engaged in sweeping up the bits of wood, a steady look. "My opinions and yours don't enter into it. He has a task to do, and he'll see it through. My job is to help him do it, not to be tellin' him as he shouldn't."

There was sadness in Strider's eyes, but a wry smile when he turned at last to face Sam. "I suppose there is no more to be said on the matter, then. But I must tell, you, that I had hoped that the role of the four of you in this matter would have come to an end when we arrived here. It pains me more than I can tell you to know that it does not, and you are not bound back to the Shire where you belong."

"The road goes its own way, I suppose, and where we belong is where we will find ourselves, at the end of it," Sam responded slowly, holding Strider's gaze. "Ain't no point spending worry on that score. But a week ago, I thought to lose him, and now we're spending Yule together, and he's in the kitchen a'makin' plum pudding. No point to frettin' about what might have been or what might be."

Strider smiled and laid a gentle hand on the hobbit's shoulder. "You are well named, Samwise Gamgee. It is fortunate indeed that Frodo will have you at his side. And you might even be able to keep his cousins in line, and no man can ask for more than that."

Sam grinned back, a conspiratorial light in his eyes. "Plenty o'practice along those lines, Master Strider."

But Frodo chose just that moment to issue forth from the kitchen, his face and dark curls both smudged and dusted with flour, and a desperate gleam in his eye. "He's in a perfect baking frenzy, Sam," he groaned. "The entire East Farthing could never finish what he has started. Come lend a hand, there's a dear." And the matter was thus put aside, as Strider chuckled, and deftly departed before his assistance could be requested as well.

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

"I realize it's an imposition," Halilhil muttered, as he entered Bilbo's smial that evening, "but he is a cousin, of sorts, apparently. And he's here from Mirkwood, and really doesn't know anyone, and Elrond asked me..."

But he did not have to say any more before Bilbo gave a hearty laugh, and pulled both Halilhil and Legolas, who had been politely waiting outside, into the already crowded smial. "Say no more, dear boy, for he is not the only refuge from Mirkwood and beyond this night," he added, indicating with a nod the dwarves sitting in the cozy back corner of the sitting room. Frodo, standing just behind Bilbo, could see alarm suddenly spring into Halilhil's eyes at that comment, but Bilbo just gave a knowing chuckle. "I was your father's guest, once, my fair prince, although he did not know it at the time, and it is more than past time that I repay him for his hospitality on that occasion. Come in, come in, don't let the draft in then."

Vanishing into the kitchen once again, he left a distinctly nervous Frodo to guide the two elves to a pair of empty seats next to the dwarves. But he really hadn't needed to worry, for no sooner than had the newcomers sat where indicated, and exchanged uneasy glances with the dwarves, that Gandalf appeared in what Frodo could have sworn was the same puff of luminescent green smoke that he had used in producing the infamous green dragon on a certain momentous occasion so very long ago.

"Nothing like the halflings for throwing a party, eh?" he asked jovially, thrusting mugs of ale in the hands of Gimli and his father, and flagons of the best wine into the hands of the bemused elves.

"How did he manage that?" Frodo wondered briefly, but had no time to persue that subject when the shrill squeal of a penny whistle suddenly cut through the din in the room.

"What is the use of a party without music?" Merry unexpectedly appeared at his elbow, beaming happily, and already slightly rosy about the face. "Pippin has found a whistle, and apparently there is another whom I have been assured is more than passable on the fiddle."

It had been a remarkable evening thus far, but still Frodo had never expected to see the sight of Strider, clad in dark brown velvet and looking every inch a prince himself, as he bowed gravely to the crowd assembled and, sitting next to a glowing Pippin, produced an ancient fiddle and set about scraping out a collection of the finest Yule tunes known to the Shire. In no time, Merry, quickly joined by Bilbo, Frodo, and at last even Sam, who had been bustling mysteriously in and out of the kitchen, led the others present in all the words of the ancient tunes, including the polite verses and those not so much so, until even the dwarves, not to mention the prince of Mirkwood himself, were singing as well, and laughing heartily over the slips and confusion as they attempted to learn the unfamiliar songs.

But just as even Pippin was beginning to lose a bit of steam, and Strider was laughing and tightening up his pegs one last time, there came, upon a quick wink exchanged between Bilbo and Sam, the hearty groan of a steam-expanded door, and Sam flung open the wooden entrance to the kitchen, revealing a wealth of Yuletide dishes, from roast fowls and a plump suckling pig, to Yuletide pies and cakes and puddings in unimaginable glory. "To the feast, my friends," Bilbo cried, "and let no one go hungry tonight. For the darkness is on the run and spring will find its way to all of us once more. Good Yule, my dearest friends and family!"

Good Yule!" burst spontaneously from the hearts and mouths of all present, and the feasting and merriment lasted far into the night.

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

Frodo and Sam had taken the long way about back to the room that was theirs at Rivendell, for not only was every corner well filled, but they promised to be in that condition for quite awhile, or at least until luncheon the next day. They laughed and compared notes as they walked in the brisk night air, still impervious to the chill, through the leaf-strewn gardens and murmuring fountains. There had been far too much for any one hobbit to see, and the thought of some of the couples Merry had managed to finagle under the mistletoe, made Sam shake his head in merry disbelief. "I believe the dwarves settled on holiday embraces, as a compromise," Frodo explained with a grin. "And really, who could have even foretold that?"

The biggest surprise, of course, had been Elrond and his daughter turning up in the midst of the celebration. "I never seen such a lass for ending up in the hallway, right under the mistletoe, any time old Strider was awalkin' by which, now that I think on it, he spent a considerable amount of time doing," Sam chuckled.

"And it certainly appeared to me that they had had a fair amount of practice at that sort of thing," Frodo allowed, with a wink. "Our rough ranger definitely showed us that there was more to him than we knew, this evening."

They paused, as the path turned back toward the wing in which they were staying, and watched the silvered smoke rise from Bilbo's chimney set in the hillside below.

"Another Yule log to ash," Frodo murmured, tightening his arm around Sam's waist.

"And yet it's still burning in our minds, if we but think on it," Sam responded warmly, settling his head for a moment on Frodo's shoulder. "Not a single Yule, not one good memory, ever goes away, really."

"So very true, my wisest of Sams," Frodo rested a tender hand on the side of Sam's face as he leaned in for a lingering kiss. "We have had our share thus far, but here's to the many more that are to follow. Although, preferably the next will be back at Bag End. Yes, I said Bag End," he smiled in response to Sam's lifted eyebrow. "Why we shuttle back and forth from Brandy Hall to the Grand Smails I'm sure I do not know. Next year, I promise you, Sam. Yule at Bag End. And about time."

From the look of happiness on Sam's face, he had no objections to this plan. Frodo gave him another hearty kiss and snatched up his hand with a laugh. "A brisk walk can work wonders, can it not, my dear? Not that I am particularly in the mood for something to eat, but a bit of exercise in, oh, say, a nice warm bed, sounds quite appealing, I must say."

Sam sprang into action, pulling Frodo behind him with great determination before the words were quite out of Frodo's mouth. "Here, love, it would be best to get there undamaged, to my way of thinking," he gasped and gave his infectious giggle that only caused Sam to stride along faster than ever. It was only as they entered the doorway that Frodo had one last chance to glance up at the dark sky above, and find what he sought there every Yule eve. "The Yule star, my dearest," he murmured, pointing up to the white glistening light in the black velvet night. "May it shine on us forever."

Sam gave it a brief glance, but his eye quickly returned to the pale planes of Frodo's face in the starlight. "Never as fair as you, me love." he breathed. "You are my star and my moon and my sun in one, Frodo. You are the wish I had once on that star that came true. I've naught else to be askin' for."

Frodo found tears rising in his throat at Sam's heartfelt words, and knew that his best response did not involve words at all. So they found their way back to their bed, where Frodo explained, in the greatest of detail, exactly how he felt about his lover, and never uttered a word.


End file.
